A BATTLE BY NIGHT.
"What art thou, fascinating War,
Thou trophied, painted pest,
That thus men seek and yet abhor,
Pursue and yet detest?"--DIBDIN.
Day after day Jack's fleet held on its course, and the weather
continued unbroken and fine. Day after day the phantom Frenchman hovered
somewhere about, afraid perhaps to try conclusions with that rakish,
spiteful-looking British frigate, or perhaps but biding her chance.
Twice or thrice Jack put about, sailed back and challenged her, with a
shot, to fight if she dared. There never came the slightest response
from Johnny Crapaud--she seemed indeed a phantom.
And at night those on board the _Tonneraire_ could not help thinking the
phantom was ever near them, even when it was too dark to see her. I do
not think, however, that it kept many of the officers awake at night,
although it must be confessed Jack was ill at ease. If it were possible
for the enemy to steal near enough in the pitchy dark portion of the
night, the first intimation of her presence might be a raking broadside
that would sweep the decks fore and aft; then farewell the _Tonneraire_.
There are few things more difficult to bear than what Scotch people so
expressively term "tig-tire," or excessive tantalization. There came a
day when Jack called his chief officers together in his own cabin.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I've had enough of that French fellow. Why should
he follow us night and day, like the shadow of the evil one, and yet
refuse to fight? I mean to carry war into the enemy's camp, or rather on
to his quarter-deck, if you think my plan feasible. Remember, I am
hot-headed and young."
Jack then unfolded his plans, and they were generally approved, though
the old master was somewhat doubtful of their success.
"However," he growled, "I'll take the wheel. Better, perhaps, after all,
that we should take the initiative; for, blow me to smithereens, if
that tantalizing Froggie ain't spoiling my appetite!"
There was a general laugh at this, and the council broke up.
Next day it blew little more than a seven-knot breeze, and the sun
sparkled on the waters like showers of diamonds. The Frenchman marvelled
much to see not only the British frigate, but all the merchant fleet
close together, and with main or fore yards aback. The truth is, Captain
Mackenzie was issuing his orders by boat.
About an hour afterwards Johnny Crapaud smiled grimly to himself to see
the _Tonneraire_ fill her sails and tack out to offer him battle.
"The fool!" said Johnny. "When the gale of wind shall come, then I shall
fight. Till then, _non_, _non_!"
So he filled and bore southwards next; and as Jack had no desire for a
race, he returned to his fleet. He had done all he wanted to: he had put
Johnny on the wrong scent.
That night, at sunset, clouds gathered up and quite obscured the sky.
Johnny rubbed his hands and chuckled.
"Soon," he said, "it will blow what perfidious England calls big guns.
Then--ah--_then_!"
It blew big guns far sooner than he had expected.
The night was intensely dark, but the half-moon would rise about four
bells in the middle watch.
When Johnny Crapaud looked towards the fleet, lo! the vessels had extra
lights all, and lights were streaming from every port.
"Ha! ha!" he grinned. "They rejoice; they dance. They think they have
made me fly. When the gale blows, then they will dance--to different
music."
The watch kept on board the French seventy-four was not extra vigilant.
Especially did no one think of looking astern. Had any one on the
outlook done so, then just about a quarter of an hour before moonrise he
might have seen a dark shape coming hand-over-hand across the water from
the direction in which "fair France" lay--fair France that many a poor
fellow on Johnny's ship would never see again.
It was the _Tonneraire_. She had made a detour with every stitch of
canvas set, and was now almost close aboard of the enemy.
Ah! at last they perceive her; and the noise on board the enemy is
indescribable--the shrieking of orders, the rattle of arms and cordage,
the trampling of feet, the stamping and unlimbering of guns. But
against her stern windows, which are all ablaze with light, the
_Tonneraire_ concentrates her whole starboard broadside. The effect is
startling and terrible. Confusion prevails on board the enemy--almost
panic, indeed; and this lasts long enough for the frigate to sail back
on the other tack. Jack's object is to cripple her, and with this object
in view he concentrates his larboard broadside again in the stern of the
seventy-four, and her rudder is a thing of the past.
Away glides the _Tonneraire_. _She_ is the phantom now. She loads her
guns, and is coming down with the wind again--like the wind, too--when
the seventy-four gets in her first broadside. It does but little harm.
It does not stop the onward rush of the swift bold frigate even for a
moment; and Jack's next broadside is a telling one, for the Frenchman's
sails are not only ashiver, but aflap, awry, anyhow and everyhow; and
just as the moon throws her first faint light athwart the waves, once
more the helpless merchantmen tremble to hear the thunder of twenty
cannon. For the _Tonneraire_ has crossed the enemy's hawse, and raked
him fore and aft.
Now down comes the Frenchman's foremast; and shortly after, a wild
triumphant shout echoes from stem to stern and stern to stem of brave
young Jack's ship, for the enemy has surrendered.
A French seventy-four striking her flag to a British frigate of forty
guns! Yes; but far more daring deeds than that which I now record
happened in the dashing days of old.
Captain Jack Mackenzie would have gone right straight on board the
enemy, but the master cautioned him.
"Nay, nay, sir," he said. "There is such a thing as French treachery; I
have known it before. Wait till the moon gets higher, and we will board
in force. Remember, they may have about five hundred men still alive on
that ship."
Jack took the advice thus vouchsafed; but in half-an-hour's time the
_Tonneraire_ rasped alongside the seventy-four, and a rush was made up
the sides of the battle-ship.
But all was safe.
And stark and stiff on his own poop lay the French captain, and
alongside him more than one of his officers. The decks were a sad sight
in the glimmering moonlight, for splintered timbers and arms lay
everywhere, and everywhere were dead and wounded.
More by token, from the uncertain, heavy-swaying motion of the vessel,
it was evident she had been badly hit 'twixt wind and water, and was
already sinking. All haste was therefore made to save the men. Those of
the ship's boats that were not smashed were lowered, and further
assistance was sent for from the merchant fleet, and none too soon
either.
A few minutes after the last man--and that was Jack Mackenzie, who
personally superintended everything--had left the ill-fated Frenchman,
her decks blew up with a dull report, the water rushed in from all
sides, and just as the sun threw his first yellow beams upwards through
the morning clouds, the great ship shuddered like a dying thing, and
shuddering sank.
Such is war; why should we desire it?
But side by side with tragedy do we ever find something akin to the
ridiculous or comic.
It was Tom Fairlie himself who was despatched to the merchant fleet to
beg them to send all the boats they could to rescue the wounded and
prisoners from the sinking war-ship. Almost the first vessel he boarded
was that commanded by the skipper who owned the bulbous nose. And here a
strange and a wonderful sight met his gaze. Arranged in double rank on
the quarter-deck were about twenty or more sailors, each armed with a
gun and bayonet, the skipper himself at their head drilling them.
"Shoulder-houp!" he was shouting as Tom leaped down from the bulwark.
The most comical part of the business was this: every one of the honest
skipper's sailor-soldiers had a white linen shirt on over his dress, and
as the men's legs were bare to the knees, they all looked as near to
naked as decency would permit. While Tom stopped to laugh aloud, Captain
Bulbous hastened to explain.
"Were comin' to your assistance, I was, in half-a-minute. Stuck on them
shirts so's they should know each other from the French. See? Do look
curious, though, I must admit. What! the fight all over? Well, I _am_
sorry."
Before eight bells in the morning watch the prisoners were distributed
all over the fleet, with the exception of the wounded, who were under
the charge of Dr. M'Hearty on board the saucy _Tonneraire_.